All Rise

by Rosemarie Aquilina

  Dinkie-Do excused himself to mix color.

  To put her at ease I tried to soften my face and my voice. “How’ve you been?”

  “Scared for you. For us, too.” Renee tilted her head.

  “You’ve lost your boss. I never had a chance to tell you how sorry I am.” I kept it formal.

  “I worked for him for fifteen years.”

  “I know you served him well,” I said gently. “He and I didn’t get along, but I know you two were close.”

  Barely five feet tall, she’d always reminded me of a Russian doll because her sense of fashion was a cross between mountain girl and JC Penney’s. Her long vest atop a clingy shirt and flowing skirt with mixed patterns hurt my eyes. I wondered whose side she was on.

  “While Judge Donnettelli was alive, I wasn’t able to think of you as a friend. I—” Renee’s cheeks pinked. “I don’t believe you killed him.” She paused. “I’m keeping an open mind.” Her eyes dropped to her lap.

  I reached for her hand. “I appreciate that more than you know. I didn’t murder him.”

  “I miss him.” Renee squeezed my hand hard. “He was funny. But lately, he was a little grumpy. In fairness, something was going on that didn’t involve you.”

  I held her gaze. “How do you know?”

  “I didn’t ask,” she said briskly. “I know you two stayed away from each other. The few weeks before he died, there were lots of phone calls, staying after hours, locked doors—”

  “Everyone has moods, gets behind with work. No offense, but I bet he had more bad moods than most.” Seemed like a safe road to take with her. I stepped back.

  Renee’s face relaxed, and she eased back into the stylist chair. “These moods were out of character.”

  Geez, were we talking about the same guy?

  “I was scared, but I wasn’t sure why.”

  “Did you tell the police?”

  Negative head shake. “I tried. Sure. But they didn’t care. They only wanted me to answer questions about you.”

  “Any clue—maybe any gossip—why?”

  Renee rubbed her hands together. “Rumors are you couldn’t handle taking orders from a man.”

  If I’d ever met a man capable of giving orders—

  “I witnessed the police search and endured thousands of questions—” Renee stopped abruptly. “Honestly, I’m confused. If the Prosecutor has doubts about you, I mean, of course you know, it’s rare for anyone charged with murder to be out on bond, even a million dollars—”

  Ah, a woman with common sense. I might like her after all.

  “—and there is doubt, since you’re free, the killer’s lurking. And I’m afraid just because I worked for Judge Donnettelli, I’m targeted.” Renee’s words ran together. Tears welled. “I don’t want to die.”

  I kept my voice to a whisper. “Follow me.” A few minutes later we were in my office seated at the chairs across from my desk. “Are you willing to help me?”

  Renee looked around the room. She didn’t say no.

  “Can you pull Courthouse records, files—confidentially? And make copies?”

  Affirmative nod. “Whatever police didn’t seize.” She seemed a tad relieved. Women generally needed to be active to feel safe.

  “Did police remove his schedule book?” I tried to hide mounting exhilaration.

  Renee rubbed her earring. “They took this years. It was only half full. I offered past years, but they declined, said something like it was too far removed.”

  “I need the past two years’ schedule books. Personal ones, too.”

  “No personal books. He had one oversized red schedule book with every hearing, appointment, holiday, birthday, meeting, and occasion. If it wasn’t in there, he wouldn’t remember.”

  “Did you schedule his personal appointments?”

  “Rarely. Anything Judge wanted private, he noted with his own shorthand, usually initials. My job was to respect his privacy.” When she spoke of Judge Donnettelli, her confidence shone.

  “The cardinal rule: Judges are always in; our personal schedules are never released.” It was a standard line, necessary for safety and privacy. But Judges, like Donnettelli, took advantage and were away from the Courthouse too often during work hours.

  I noticed Dinkie-Do peeking around the corner and waved him forward. He was ready for Renee, so she and I followed him back to the workroom, and Renee took her spot in Dinkie-Do’s chair.

  “Was your Judge friends with Wade Mazour?” I tried to ask about him casually, as if I were asking if she liked cheeseburgers.

  “Judge Donnettelli got along with the law clerks of other Judges. When we were behind, he would borrow them.”

  “That’s odd.”

  “No, Judge Haddes’s clerk liked to stay busy, and they were friends, so he offered to help.”

  “But Wade Mazour is a law clerk from the State Supreme Court, so that would have been a conflict—helping out on your Judge’s docket.”

  Renee smiled. “Nothing for the docket, but when we were very busy, and Judge was stressed-out, they all went out for boys—uh—men’s night. It relaxed my boss. He always came in the next morning whistling.” She paused. “For anything that looked like a conflict, either I or Peter Dune handled. We insulated our Judge from any perceived problems.”

  It was likely his night to cheat on his wife. I wondered what problems they handled for Donnettelli.

  Renee bit her thumbnail. “I’m sorry you’re going through all this.”

  “Can you—confidentially of course—pull all the asbestos cases for the past three years—no matter on whose docket?”

  She tugged her earring and jiggled a hot pink nail-polish bottle at Dinkie-Do as he neared.

  I guessed the earring-play was spy-code for yes.

  “Can I get an emergency Mani Pedi today?” she asked Dinkie-Do, pulling out a Visa card, and setting it on the counter.

  “It’s proven, God’s creatures bring in business,” Carlye said. “Uh-huh.”

  “Blue balls.” Squawk.

  “Your Mani Pedi’s on me.” I stuck her Visa card in her purse side pocket. “A bottle of polish, too. Dinkie-Do will take phenomenal care of you. We’ll talk soon.” I gently patted Renee’s nails. I hoped this was the beginning of an alliance.

  But, if she followed through, her information from Donnettelli’s schedule book would hotwire my investigation. I dove into my office to plan my strategy.

  For almost an hour I studied notes and made more, focusing well until raucous sounds behind my office door distracted me. The noises were so loud they trampled my nerves.

  I jumped up and jerked my door open.

  My entire staff stood united in an attack on my fearless door. I blinked, brought both hands up in a commanding stop position, and pictured myself as a stiffly hair sprayed Wile E. Coyote. But my staff Road-Runnered right over me in high-definition quad speed.

  “Whoa.” Until that moment I’d never contemplated the intensity of their caring or our Muppets-meet-Cruella-deVil dress code.

  “Judge?” I could always count on the matriarch of the crew to toe-test the warp level of my mood. “Are you feeling all right? You look flushed.”

  “For some reason, I’m a little distracted.”

  “Uh-huh” Carlye shook her head and waved her right hand, a ruby dangling from the center of a fingernail. “Now I know that’s right, and I know why.”

  Dinkie-Do slammed his hip up against her. “You know so little, it frightens the shadow right offa my lids.”

  “Hey, watch it, Gray Matter, or I might flatten your color wheel to a platter of white,” Carlye said. “Don’t need a fancy degree or nothing to understand her stress.”

  Dinkie-Do frowned. “She has good friends at home that keep her calm. Me and Jimmy Jack.”

  When Margo ha
nded me a bracelet-sized white-leather box engulfed in white ribbon, her bedazzled fingernails shone, and her bedazzled toes peaked out of her bedazzled pumps. “Ignore Frick and Frack.” She smacked the box into my palm. “Open it before I hot glue those nose flares.”

  I refused to acknowledge the threat. Nose flares had been embedded in me since I was a child and couldn’t get what I wanted. Like frayed underwear, I tried to hide them, but when words failed, my inner child flared. “I’ll hibernate more often if it results in gifts.” I turned the box over to spy every angle for markings and found none. “Where did it come from?” I placed it near my ear. No ticking. No vibrating. I sniffed it. No scent.

  “It’s not from us,” Margo said. “But next time you lock yourself in your office, I’ll bring you a giant candy bar.”

  I unleashed the ribbon and opened the hinged box. A BMW remote key with note attached. Kryptonite. I felt vomitus.

  “Least you could do is read it out loud,” Margo said.

  I followed orders. “Grab your purse and your phone. Walk to the back lot. Time to drive home.”

  “I know taste when I see it,” Carlye said. “You got some sugar daddy on the hook I don’t know about? ‘Cause that just ain’t a good idea. I know about those things.” Carlye bent over the box and studied the key so closely she looked cross-eyed. “It’s real. I got to see this. I’m going out there with you.” She grabbed an oversized umbrella from the stand beside my door and held it up. “Uh—things might go flying. Girl’s gotta be prepared. Don’t have to tell me nothin’ twice.”

  Dinkie-Do raised both hands. “Hallelujah, we have a ride.”

  “Short-pants, we ain’t got nothin,’” Carlye said. “Cinderella got herself a slick man with a hot ride, and all she got to do is press the key.”

  “My Honey-princess takes no ride without her boy-guide.” Dinkie-Do dismissed Carlye with a downward hand wave and wiggled away. “Follow me.” He pushed his chin up high and confidently jiggled toward the back door and the parking lot.

  I remembered courtroom days when Dinkie-Do, Carlye, and the gang were ordered to follow me. I’d command that control over my life again. Someday.

  Trisha put her arm around my shoulders and squeezed. “You all right, Judge?” She whispered, “Must be you-know-him. Brace yourself.”

  “Can you lock up? I’m curious, but I can’t handle another 911.” I tossed my phone into my bag, double checked my desk was locked, snapped off my office lights, and locked my office door.

  I pointed at Margo. “If it’s a car, if it’s safe to drive, if it’s not a joke, on my way out I’ll honk the horn. I’ll give you a ride tomorrow. Tonight, it’s a direct drive home. Help Trisha close?”

  A corner of Margo’s mouth ticked up. “Sure thing, boss.”

  “It’s Nicoletta. And lose the gum.” I waved goodbye and treaded down the hallway toward the back lot, where my day had begun.

  I could hole up in my room and work on that tonight. The kryptonite was working. I felt weaker already. Every nerve was on fire, and I wondered what occupied Hunter and Sebastian. Their silence was as unnerving as this walk.

  I didn’t have a chance to ponder long, though. With Dinkie-Do waiting at the back door and Carlye sauntering behind me, I clutched the knob, closed my eyes, and flung it open.

  In the exact space where my antique Lincoln Continental had melted, now sat a royal-blue BMW Convertible M6. When I was married, my ex had been hardwired into anything on wheels, but I—being of a more discriminating nature—remained a proponent of the classics and wheels made in America. This backhanded dig was wrapped in a pink ribbon larger than the Easter Bunny Parade. Yep. A love-bouquet from Dex-the-Ex.

  Carlye whistled. Dinkie-Do said something about a new hue. It must have cost a year’s salary. I snapped a picture with my phone, unzipped my oversized shoulder bag, plucked my hairdresser travel-pack and pulled out a blade. I cut the ribbon and returned the blade to my kit. “Stand back.” I held up the key fob.

  “Let me,” Hunter said and placed his hand over my fingers.

  I smacked his bicep. “Where have you been?”

  “Checking out the premises and the new delivery,” Hunter said, all business.

  “Too late,” I said and clicked the door unlocked. I didn’t need a last-minute rescue. I clenched teeth and fists and buttocks and opened the passenger-side front door. No kaboom.

  “You aren’t driving that spectacular and possible death trap, are you?” Carlye’s eyes were as round as prism hubcaps. “It’d be shameful to watch such a splendiferous ride blow up.”

  “Duh?” Dinkie-Do rolled his eyes at her. “How else is she going to drive me and her home?”

  “I can drive you home,” Hunter said and grabbed the keys.

  I blinked. “I will drive me home.” Okay, I had to admit the thought of even riding a bicycle was scaring me. A little bit. Actually, being blown apart was the thing that scared me. Twice in one day didn’t seem possible except in special-effects movies. But, pressing my ignition fingers into a new engine to find out, didn’t make me eager to bust a move toward another lift-off. Still, I had enough dignity left to snatch the keys back from Hunter.

  “You almost became a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle. I wouldn’t be jumpin’ into an enticing car that ain’t been inspected.” Carlye eyeballed the white-leather interior. “I love me the smell of a new car. But we need Inspector 99 or someone like that.”

  “Inspector 99 works for Fruit of the Loom,” Dinkie-Do said. “Where do you get your information?”

  Carlye stepped closer and bent toward Dinkie-Do. “Your Fruit of the Looms are so dried up, Inspector 99 has retired and is looking for work in another field.”

  Dinkie-Do glided past Carlye with an exaggerated head bow, curtsey, topped with an extended hip swag toward the driver’s side. He opened the door, ran a finger over the steering wheel, seat, and console. “Like the afterglow of fortifying hair treatment. A gift from a man who knows you well. No jigsaw worries.”

  I half smiled. A gift from my placebo husband. Trisha’s guess was right. I gave Hunter a sharp look, and he remained silent. “Take cover.” I pressed the remote twice. Like magic, the engine turned over; the radio came to life. We might as well hear music while we waited for the explosion.

  Dinkie-Do snapped his fingers like a Greek dancer. “Drive’ll be smooth as styling gel. Let’s ride.” When the engine roared, he twisted himself around the car and slid a finger along the paint and chrome. Dinkie-Do had rounded first and second base, and I was waiting for the BMW to say yes to a date.

  My choice was clear. Leave Dinkie-Do alone with his date or drive home. “Hunter, go back to checking the premises.” I grabbed my phone and punched in my ex. The car music was replaced by ringing, and I turned around to face it.

  “Lover, it’s about time.” Dex’s voice boomed through the car speakers.

  I leaned into the front seat. “How the hell are you on the speakers?”

  “Technology. Latest Apple iPhone in the glove box for you to swap with your phone.”

  “Chauvinist bastard.” It was all I could think of. I had a limited vocabulary these days, but I could take care of myself, replace my own car, upgrade my own phone.

  “Thank you would be nice. That particular BMW’s overloaded.”

  “BMW—Bowel Movement for Women.”

  “Nice.” Dex drew the syllable out. “Lawyer potty-mouth still intact.”

  “Buy American.”

  “BMW—Best for My Woman. Be safe in style. Hunter programmed it with your garage and alarms. Equipped with everything you might need. Lover, it’s even outfitted with under-the-seat fire-extinguishers and blankets.”

  “Droll.” I shook my head. My staff heard every lover-laced word. “Not the time or place.”

  Dinkie-Do and Carlye ogled me.

  I wanted to drive o
ver the new iPhone, but the visual would be lacking, and I wasn’t sure my contacts were backed-up. At least it was safe to drive. I should’ve realized Hunter’s first call would’ve been to Dex. Of course, Dex would have a hero’s reaction.

  “See you at home.” Dexter’s voice stung me. “By the way, you’re welcome.” He clicked off, and the radio clicked on.

  At home. My instinct, heart, and impulse ping-ponged between nesting and hiding.

  I barely had time to absorb and sort Dex’s words.

  No, damn it. I have to control this mess. No, no—” I had to interrupt myself. It was less than professional for the boss to throw a hissy fit like a tired two-year-old. I couldn’t expose the extent of my loss of control.

  Carlye rounded to the front-passenger side and opened the door. “Sounds like Inspector-Ex said the ride’s good to go. You gotta realize you earned what that man just give to you. I have no problems taking gifts. It’s not like you asked for it. It’s like your car burned up, and the sky rained a new one.” Carlye looked pleased with her logic.

  Her rationalization actually made sense to me. Scary. I needed to go home and find my lost control under the dust bunnies.

  I checked under the seats. Using my phone as a flashlight, I found under each seat a small fire extinguisher. I wasn’t amused. It was time to get revenge for the demise of Elvis and the wrongful charging of me. I needed a plan to rearrange the freckles on Peter Dune’s face. I might even take before and after photos.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Early that evening I hid in my bedroom sanctuary, where I’d removed all the art from the wall and hung dry-erase boards. For three hours I poured over paperwork, took an emergency ice-cream break, drank a pitcher of caffeine, and sat cross-legged on my bed.

  It was time to state my case—beginning with a timeline. It began the last day I saw Donnettelli: the day he threatened me verbally, physically, and with his gun. The day I’d walked out: early January.

  I moved forward to the day I was arrested: July 15, then arraigned, tethered, and bonded: July 16. Into the timeline I added: the twelve bank accounts, case maneuvering, planted bank calendars, notes about alibis, highlighted newspapers, missing money, spying at Starbucks, rattlesnake, skunking, and car bombing.